The Angel of Dean Winchester
by esstiel
Summary: Most people seemed to get the gist, saw the way Dean guided Cas with his hand on the small of his back, the way Cas looked over his shoulder at him with his eyes half-lidded and a smile on his face, and knew there was no point in trying. Their waiter seemed to have missed the fucking memo. / Destiel, drabble, PWP, prompt.


_**Prompt: ok let me see bottom!Cas and definitely jealous!Dean. BUT there is a twist! and its unacquainted!Cas, so he doesn't know when someone is hitting on him.**_

**Notes:** So I skipped the 'twist' because I couldn't be bothered, and this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being over a thousand words? WHOOPS. Had this saved on tumblr for a while and finally gave it some sort of an ending. Sorry it sucks.

_Destiel._

* * *

Dean took a deep breath, reminding himself that talking Cas into wearing clothes that fit him for once, into wearing a sports jacket instead of his iconic trench coat-which, no matter what either of them did, still smelled a little like lake water-was a good idea. Really, it was.

Whenever Cas wasn't wearing his cheap suit-and-tie getup, he was in baggy pants that hung from his hips, in Dean's old threadbare band t-shirts that, even though they showed off the curve of his neck and the line of his collarbone in an absolutely ___delicious_ way, Dean still rolled his eyes whenever he saw Cas wearing one of them.

He never paid attention to what he was wearing, and usually put up a bit of a fight whenever Dean tried to get him to wear something more flattering.

But this was a special occasion-the anniversary of their return from Purgatory-and that made Cas more willing to listen to Dean's suggestions, more willing to be dressed like a doll and spun about until Dean deemed his outfit satisfactory.

More than satisfactory. The outfit was positively ___sinful__._

Charcoal slacks that clung to his legs, showed off toned and firm muscle underneath, a dark blue dress shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, a gray sports jacket that was just short enough to keep from covering Cas' ass.

Because, really. That's an ass you don't hide.

Dean had wanted everyone to see them walking together, see Cas in all his sexy glory, then see Dean and just ___know_ that Cas belonged to him. He wanted to show Cas off, to make others want him while knowing they could never have him because he was _Dean's_ and would always be Dean's.

That was the plan, at least.

Most people seemed to get the gist, saw the way Dean guided Cas with his hand on the small of his back, the way Cas looked over his shoulder at him with his eyes half-lidded and a smile on his face, and knew there was no point in trying.

Their waiter seemed to have ___missed the fucking memo_.

He'd been okay at first, coming up and offering them menus and a wine list and all that other expensive bullshit that neither of them really cared about. He'd told them about the specials-some crap in French that Dean couldn't figure out, though Cas-Lord-Of-Languages was nice enough to clue him in with a fond smile-then winked at Cas before sauntering off.

Dean grit his teeth and ignored it. Instead of throwing his plate at the waiter's head, he rubbed his foot along the back of Cas's calf and smirked at the flush rising in the angel's cheeks, at the way his mouth fell open just a little as he took a deep breath.

It was crazy how just the little touches and caresses could undo Cas; Deanloved how easy it was to leave the angel absolutely fucking ___wrecked_.

He wanted to keep thinking about that, wanted to come up with more little ways to pull Cas apart in the crowded restaurant, but their waiter was back with his oily smile and black beady eyes and suggestive leering, and it was all Dean could do to not wrap his fingers around the man's neck and strangle the everloving shit out of him.

Cas, bless him, was still completely oblivious to the idea of flirting and clearly didn't understand what their waiter-his little name tag said his name was Derek-was doing, but Dean was well aware.

Derek was eying his Cas like he was a fucking steak, kept licking and biting at his lower lip suggestively and paid almost no mind when Dean tried to order but once Cas was speaking it was like Derek's entire fucking world revolved around him and he was staring way too hard at Cas' mouth and did he ___seriously just reach out and brush his nasty ass fingers against Cas' arm?_

Nope. Nope nope nope. Dean was done. His patience was no longer existent.

His fist connected with Derek's nose with a satisfying crack; blood poured from the asshole's broken nose as he stumbled to the floor. Then he was grabbing Cas' arm, dragging him out of the restaurant, through the shocked onlookers into the night air.

Cas let himself be pulled along, tripping over his feet to keep up with Dean's pace. "Dean, why did you-"

Dean stopped suddenly, spinning around to grab Cas' face and press their lips together violently, a kiss that was all anger and teeth and bruised lips. When he finally pulled away, he caught Cas' lower lip between his teeth and ___tugged_, felt his canines just barely break through skin. Cas' eyes were wide, pupils dilated; his tongue flicked out to touch the small punctures in his lips, to dab at the blood slowly beading. He clung to Dean's shoulders, fingers digging into him almost painfully.

God, just a kiss was enough to make Cas weak at the knees.

Dean couldn't help but smirk at that, moving his hands to cup the back of Cas' head, carding his fingers through the hairs at the base of his skull. The blinding jealousy had eased a bit, enough that he wasn't seeing red, but he still felt the need to _prove_ that Cas was his, completely and totally. Not to that bag of dicks Derek, not to Cas, not to anyone else but himself, really. Because somewhere in the back of his mind he always worried that Cas was going to disappear, find someone better, more worthy of his love and adoration, so he held on tighter, hoping against all hope that Cas would be his forever.

And if that meant punching a few assholes along the way, then he was more than happy to do so.

Some of his emotions must've been showing on his face because Cas smiled at him, a big toothy warm smile that made Dean's heart swell, and quickly pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead, mojo'ing them back to the living room of their apartment.

Dean pulled a face-no matter how many times Cas did it, he still had trouble using the bathroom days afterward-but he forgot about that as nimble fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, the zipper of his pants.

Cas worked enthusiastically through the night to assure Dean that he was, in fact, his and his alone.

Not even God had claim to him anymore. He was an Angel of Dean Winchester.


End file.
